From the hills he saw that the fish-sheds which stood along the village
street could only be a camping place for the fishers at the season of
work, for all along the inner sides of the hills there were small
farm-houses, large enough and fine enough to make good dwellings. The
island was less savage than he had supposed. Indignation rose within him
that people apparently so well-to-do should let their neighbours die
without extending a helping hand. He would have been glad to go and
bully some owner of a horse and cart into taking him the last stage of
his journey without further delay; but he did not do this, he only
roamed upon the hills enjoying the fair prospect of the sea and the
sister isles, and went back to his inn about two o'clock. There he
feasted again upon the luxurious provision that the spinsters had been
making for the appetite that the new air had given him. He ate roast
duck, stuffed with a paste of large island mushrooms, preserved since
their season, and tarts of bake-apple berries, and cranberries, and the
small dark mokok berry--three kinds of tart he ate, with fresh cream
upon them, and the spinster innkeepers applauded his feat. They stood
around and rejoiced at his eating, and again they told him in chorus
that he must not go to the other island where the people were sick.
It was just then that a great knock came at the front door; the loudness
of the wind had silenced the approaching footsteps.
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